It Wasn't Supposed To End This Way
by ClaireBear1982
Summary: He had always known that his husband was a Gryffindor to the end. But, just this once, he would have liked to have been proven wrong.


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

 **Written for the Quidditch League – Season 4 Fanfiction Competition – Finals Round 1**

 **Finals Round 1 –** **OTP chaining**

The theme this round is literary devices and techniques that many writers use to make their stories more exciting and engaging.

The first person to submit will use device prompts a and b in their story; the second person to submit will use prompts b and c; third person c and d… and so on.

 **Oh, and one last thing,** you'll be writing about the previous player's OTP in your story. So if player 1's OTP is Dramione, that will be the pairing player 2 writes about, and so on. Since nobody goes before player 1, they are free to write about any of their team-mates' OTPs (but not their own!)

 **Captain:** Player 2- A simile AND a section written in epistolary form (an exerpt from a diary, letter, document etc)

 **Player 1 OTP (agentmoppet)** : Drarry

 **Captain for the Wimbourne Wasps**

* * *

 **It Wasn't Supposed To End This Way.**

Draco rolled over in bed and reached out a hand to where his husband would normally be lying next to him, but only found empty coldness. His eyes fluttered open; he saw the blank space next to him and sighed as he remembered that Harry was away on a mission. Sighing again, Draco rolled onto his back. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments, then pulled himself out of his warm cocoon of blankets. He slipped on his warm dressing gown and headed to the kitchen to make himself a mug of coffee to comfort himself before starting his day.

He hated it when Harry was away. Draco had a tendency to disappear inside his own head and drown in self-reflection—his husband knew the signs and could draw Draco out before he spiraled into an existential crisis, but when abroad, it was impossible for Harry to interfere. Today, Draco tried to focus on the fact that it was almost Christmas and that he still needed to decide what he would be getting his husband as a gift as a distraction. This tactic worked decidedly well as he went through his morning routine, which surprised him; normally, by now, he would be lost deep inside his own mind, battling whichever one of his demons came smashing to the forefront of his brain. Draco decided that during his lunch break, he would write to Harry about this small victory because he knew it would make his husband proud. For now, though, he kept on readying himself to start his shift at St Mungo's.

* * *

The day flew by in a blur of activity. Draco hardly had any chance to think, let alone sit down and write to Harry. By the time he arrived home from his shift, all he wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep. He was physically and mentally exhausted after a long, arduous day; he'd seen one too many family arguments. This would have sent him spiraling down into the dark abyss again if he'd had time to dwell on it, for Draco had neither seen nor heard from his family since his decision to marry Harry—Lucius had made his opinion abundantly clear.

When Draco walked into the kitchen, he found a note pinned to the cupboard door from Mrs Weasley, explaining that there was a pot of warm stew for him in the oven. Whilst he sat eating, Draco caught up with all the mail that had arrived during the day; most of it were Christmas cards for both him and Harry from old friends from school and the remaining members of the Order, and the other being the Daily Prophet. Once again, the front page was a mass article detailing the activities of 'The Raiders.'

 _The gang of youths, calling themselves The Raiders, mercilessly pillaged multiple villages in the Welsh hills last night. They slaughtered animals and people alike, set fire to properties regardless of whether there were people inside, and several woman have come forward to say they were raped and beaten by members of the gang..._

Draco threw the paper aside in absolute disgust. Who were these people? Why were they doing this? Not even the Death Eaters had caused that amount of destruction for the sheer hell of it. They were just being mindless thugs who liked to cause mayhem and chaos. Draco knew that this would be Harry's next mission, to round these youths up and have them sent to Azkaban for what remained of their stinking lives.

* * *

A few hours later, Draco was done with work for the night. He sat back in his chair and straightened his spine, wincing with pain as he rolled his neck. He could remember a time when he could sit hunched over his desk and pull an all-nighter without it being painful. Draco laughed at himself over that one, a bitter edge tainting his chuckles.

With no work left to do, he gave into the guilty pleasure of once more reading the letter Harry had sent to him the day before last. He pulled the desk drawer open and plucked the letter from it's innards; he sat back, opened it up, and began to read. It was a happy, chatty letter that was filled with ideas for Christmas gifts for everyone, and little descriptions of the town Harry was in and the people who lived there. It avoided talking about the mission outright. Draco's favourite parts were the lines filled with affection and love for him.

 _Draco, I want you to remember that no matter what happens, and no matter where in the world I am, I will always love you. You make me so indescribably happy, which is something I never thought I could be. You make me whole, Draco. Never forget that. I really, really hope I'll be home in time for Christmas. I want nothing more than to wake up on the 25th to find myself laying in your warm embrace, your arms tight around my waist, your breath tickling my forehead. The thought of being apart from you, I'm not going to lie, is extremely painful. I want to be there to see you open the gift I got you. Keep the landing light on for me, my love._

Draco cracked a weak smile at the landing light reference. It was an inside joke between them. When they'd first moved to this house—which was in the middle of nowhere—Draco had left a light burning brightly in the landing window so that when Harry flew close enough, he'd be able to see where to land. These days, Harry didn't need the light anymore, already familiar enough with their home so that he'd always be able to find it. Draco read the letter to the end, then folded it up and placed it back inside the drawer for safekeeping.

* * *

It had been almost a week since the last letter had arrived from Harry, and Draco was starting to worry. The longest they'd ever gone without writing to each other was three days, and the thought of not hearing about his husband for an entire week left Draco with a sick feeling burning in his abdomen and absolute dread lodged in his chest. Several times, he had to pull himself up and remind himself that he had no cause for his worry. Harry must have been extremely busy, that's all. Maybe they had finally found whomever it was they were looking for and were busy keeping track of them. Draco knew that all communication was prohibited in those cases, but he just couldn't shake his ill feeling, and it affected his job performance. The lapses in concentration had earned him more than one reprimand. It was certain to lead to a suspension if he didn't pull his head out of his arse. What bothered Draco was that normally, it didn't take this long to catch the buggers breaking the law. Whomever Harry was chasing must be a very skilled dark witch or wizard—Harry had, as usual, refused to name the person until they were caught and brought into custody.

Not being able to cope any longer, Draco took the afternoon off and headed to the Ministry to see if he could find any information on Harry's whereabouts.

"Mr Malfoy, what can we do to help you?" came Kingsley Shacklebolt's slow drawl from the left of where Draco was standing in the Atrium.

Draco turned towards the voice and immediately held his right hand out for a handshake."I was wondering if there were any news from Harry and the Aurors, Minister," said Draco as he took Kingsley's hand in his own.

"Draco, you know I cannot disclose any information about this case. Besides, I myself do not know any details as of yet," replied Kingsley.

"Surely, you must know something, Minister. I haven't heard from Harry in a week! Who are they even tracking?" asked Draco, pushing his luck.

Kingsley gave Draco a look that said 'I'm sorry, but you're getting nothing from me.' Draco knew better than to push too hard; it wouldn't get him anywhere, and if Harry got to hear that Draco had asked for him, it would only upset him.

"Thank you so much for your help, Minister," said Draco and spun on his heel to leave when he felt a gentle hand land on his shoulder. He peeped over his shoulder to find Kingsley giving him a kind look.

"Draco, Harry is the most competent Auror I know; I'm sure everything is okay. As soon as I know something, I'll Floo you," offered Kingsley.

"Thank you, Minister. I'd appreciate that," replied Draco quietly as Kingsley gave his shoulder a final pat.

With dragging feet, Draco headed to the fireplaces to join the queues of people waiting to Floo out. As he moved towards them, he felt like all eyes were watching him; of course, it had been well publicized when Harry married Draco—it had made front page of the Daily Prophet—and just last week, Harry had released a statement to the press concerning the case. He'd said that he and the Aurors were about to leave the country—but again no names were mentioned. This was a clever ploy thought up by Harry himself, as there were so many Death Eaters still at large, at home and abroad.

Draco saw a few people whispering behind their hands as they walked past him; some completely averted their eyes, but most of them completely ignored him.

* * *

Kingsley was true to his word, and as soon as he had news, he immediately let Draco know.

"Ah, Draco, there you are," said Kingsley when he appeared in the fireplace a couple of days later. "Harry and the Aurors he's working with have caught the suspect and are on their way back to Britain now; it should only be a matter of hours before they're here."

Once Draco was over the shock of the fire suddenly erupting and Kingsley's face appearing in it, he was quite grateful that the Minister had kept his word.

"Thank you for letting me know, Minister," said Draco, a look of relief crossing his face.

Many hours later, and Harry still hadn't appeared. By now, Draco was pacing in agitation. All kinds of scenarios were whipping their way through his mind's eye, each worse than the previous one. His head was buzzing and he instinctively reacted to every little innocent noise in the house.

 _'_ _Come on, where are you, Harry? You've never kept me waiting before!'_ thought Draco.

Draco heard the fire in the living room spring to life. He tigerishly sped from the kitchen into the living room to see Kingsley Shacklebolt standing on the rug in front of the fire. Draco's heart stopped at the look on the Minister's face; in that instant, he knew. He knew Harry was gone, and he was never coming back. Draco felt his legs give way and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, great wracking sobs heaving from his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," said Kingsley in a choked voice. "Please, come and sit, and I'll explain."

The report was sketchy at best; all that was known so far was that they'd run into 'The Raiders' gang. Harry's group were outnumbered twenty to one. In the chaos of the fight, one of Harry's lot had had a Severing charm used on their wand hand, and then, when one of the youths had been about to perform the killing curse, Harry had jumped in with no cover, taking the hit instead.

"As it stands, we have no idea who these youths are exactly, but whoever they are, they're strong. They have no fear, and they don't seem to care about anybody or anything. They're worse than the Death Eaters, and that's saying something," said Kingsley, shaking his head.

"After everything he's been through, not even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could kill him, and now this group of idiots, whoever they are, have done the very thing that the dark side never managed. Who the fuck are they? We have to stop them, Minister!" spat Draco.

"We're going to do everything in our power to make sure these boys are brought to justice, have no fear about that. For now, though, you have my sincere condolences, Mr Malfoy," said Kingsley as he rose from his seat. "I will keep you informed."

Then, he was gone.

* * *

Once the news broke, it spread across the magical world like Fiendfyre—quickly and violently. The entirety of the British magical community congregated to participate in one mass vigil to remember the Boy-Who-Lived.

A private ceremony with only Draco, the Weasleys and a couple Hogwarts staff members was held in Godric's Hollow, where Harry was buried in the family grave. Afterwards, everyone Apparated out to Ottery St Catchpole, to the Weasley's for the wake.

* * *

Finally, Draco was alone. He was going to have to learn to live by himself now. He would do it for Harry, who had been as brave as a lion. He'd given up his life for someone else; he really was a true Gryffindor, having died like that.

Draco, however, was a Slytherin. Self preservation was something he had in spades, yet what had kept him alive for years had been taken from him. He could not forgive that. They say time heals all wounds, and one day, Draco would be healed too, but for now vengeance would sustain him.


End file.
